


French Exit

by losingface



Series: under the thumb [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: F/M, New Years, Smut, tags idk them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 08:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28468023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/losingface/pseuds/losingface
Summary: It’s not so much that Mason dislikes the holidays. It’s that Mason really, really despises the holidays.
Relationships: Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles), Female Detective/Mason (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: under the thumb [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085246
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	French Exit

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! 
> 
> this was really just an excuse to write something smutty BBBJSFDJBFDG and here we are! pls enjoy and soz for any spelling errors!!

**

Nights on the rooftop were supposed to be calming.

The trees. The stars. The quiet. 

Synergy is the best way to describe it, different elements pulling together to create an atmosphere that Mason could quite happily float in forever. 

The warehouse is almost high enough to see over the canopy of trees, close enough to hear the leaves scraping against each other with every flutter of wind and uttering a soothing white noise. The black ink of the sky is perfectly balanced with the bright contrast of the stars, dotted so carefully like notes of a symphony on a music sheet. 

The evening is as perfect as always.

But, somehow Mason finds himself absently scratching at his wrist, trying to get rid of an itch that shouldn't be there. Even the bluntness of his nails feels like razors, splitting his skin and each nerve ending bursting from a fiery pain. 

Every noise is dialled up louder than normal, even the faintest whisper of the longrass brushing together below is becoming increasingly annoying. 

Even his hair sitting on the back of his neck is beginning to scratch, feeling wiry and coarse and… _wrong_.

Everything just feels so out of place. 

Why he looks over to the empty space next to him he doesn't know. 

Through the open window comes a faint burst of laughter, the festivities he’s trying to escape from seeping out into the bleak night and trying to coax him back inside.

It’s not so much that Mason dislikes the holidays.

It’s that Mason really, really _despises_ the holidays.

And for the life of him he can’t figure out why the agency would ever partake in, let alone agree to, something that is so human. So unbelievably the opposite of what the agency normally does. A celebration that is so grounded and revolves around the passing of time, when the supernatural world merely spares it a glance, not relative at all to what really exists around them. It’s something that should pass them by with no interaction, just like the rest of the human world.

But, somehow he finds himself hiding out on the roof, in the midst of a new year's eve celebration.

It’s not a big gathering by any means, just agency staff and other agents from units stationed close enough to Wayhaven to pay a visit. And, of course Unit Bravo itself.

The idea of the new year, celebrating the night rolling over into another day like any other really means squat to Mason. Nat had tried to explain it. Self-reflection, looking inward and celebrating your achievements were things that Mason has never considered important. And, he certainly isn’t going to start caring now.

There's a knot forming between his shoulders from where he's hunched over, fingers digging into the tile of the roof from the sheer effort of trying to keep some kind of sanity. 

He's smoked through almost half a packet, trying to dull the irritation that the outside is bringing him instead of the normal tranquility. 

He looks back over to his left, as if by sheer will power he is going to manifest something. Or, someone. But, no, the space remains empty, just the roof tiles looking back at him almost mockingly. He juts his lip out, running his finger over it in thought. 

Another ripple of laughter travels through the window, making him shudder. One particular cackle seems to be clearer than the rest, one that Mason is annoyingly familiar with and has been on the receiving end of a handful of times.

It's the same laugh that he knows he can stop with a kiss. The same laugh that halts to tell him to piss off before starting up again. The same laugh that he sometimes finds himself joining in with.

The loud, obnoxiousness of it should annoy him. It should.

The curve of her smile and creases of her scrunched up face dances by in his mind, too quick for him to reach out and hold onto for a second longer. It disappears effortlessly, like smoke to the air and leaving the same bitter taste. Just the image… it’s enough to bring the peace he’s been craving all night.

Mason shoves his fingers through his hair, tugging it back more forcefully than necessary as he fishes another cigarette out of his packet. The spark and fizzle of the lighter is a comfort, but the first inhale is nowhere near as satisfying as it should be.

Another bout of laughter bursts through the window, louder than last time. 

Ugh. Fine.

Begrudgingly, he stubs out his half finished cigarette, in disbelief that he is actually going to venture back inside.

_Fine._

**

  
  


The warehouse is livelier than earlier, the continuation of the night and anticipation for what’s to come obviously lifting everyone’s moods. 

Mason’s barely stepped inside and he can feel it, vibrant energy ripping through the building like wild flames.

Farah’s attempts at paper chains hang from the ceiling, alongside other makeshift decorations she has plastered all over the walls. With a growl, Mason swats at one dangling a little too low for his liking, accidentally ripping it down and leaving it in a sad heap on the floor.

The lights of the hallway burn brighter than usual, an annoying white glare poking it’s way through the edges of his vision, forcing him to try and blink it away. The further inside he walks the more agonising it gets, arriving with a sudden, unruly headache. Even the air is different, his lungs lining with a blaze that he can’t seem to shake away like normal with deep breaths. 

The noise is always the worst. Unforgiving and impossible to escape. Just being able to hear every single sound around him - the voices of conversation, the clink and scrape of glass, music playing from some distance room, a door slamming, someone typing away on a phone - is agony. All amplified tenfold, near-deafening him. 

Pausing just outside of the kitchen, he takes another deep breath, pressing his palms into his eyes, just to shield himself from the light. If anyone were to see him they’d assume he was drunk, his hunched over stance and heavy breathing not exactly the signs of sobriety. 

But, this is Mason’s reality. The world pressing down on him at every opportunity it gets, crawling under his skin and suffocating his throat. The days where he didn’t want to claw his way out of his own body were better, but of course it came with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever.

His own personal hell. His existence. Is he not worthy of some sort of escape?

And then, that same laugh comes echoing through the archway of the kitchen, the perfect soothe for his ache.

Aimee’s laugh always came in waves. Timid at first, stopping and starting, trying to hold in her real amusement. But, she could never fully contain it, much too powerful, bursting out from deep in her chest and unable to stop it. Like the summer rain, it pours over you, soaking you deliberately through your clothes and into your skin until it’s all you know, but leaving you warm to the touch. 

The sound floods through him, gently blanketing the fire in his lungs and smothering every other sound he seems to be subjected to. Mason finds himself standing straighter almost instantly, the last remnants of the blinding lights gone and the soothing, relaxed thud of her heartbeat in his ears. 

Mason doesn’t give it a second thought as he takes another breath, determined to make it through at least some of the evening without shying away from it. It’s a given that Mason isn’t a people person but he certainly isn’t fucking _shy_. And, he’s not about to coward away in his own goddamn home.

Thankfully, the kitchen isn’t ram-packed like he expected, just the few drabs of people and supernaturals alike taking a breather from the real bulk of the party happening further inside the warehouse. Mason figures the common room, considering he had to assist Farah earlier today with lugging a ridiculous stereo system to it. The thump of the music is still there, in time with the last of the aches in his head.

Ignoring the groups of people clustered together, talking whatever nonsense inspired from the alcohol, he heads straight to the fridge, in dire need of his own drink. Though, it seems his entrance doesn't go unnoticed, catching Aimee’s eyes as he makes himself comfortable in his usual spot and leans against one of the kitchen counters.

God. Why is he doing this to himself?

They share another glance, the conversation she’s in becoming forgotten. Some silent dialogue seems to happen between them. Aimee tilts her head, raising her eyebrow and Mason replies with a frown and head shake. God knows what it means… but, the uptick in her pulse is something that he understands quite clearly. Their gaze still doesn’t break as he absently sends the cap of his beer flying, popping it off with just his thumb. It arches in the air and neatly clinks into the sink.

With a tilt of the head and full smile, she excuses herself from her conversation before slipping away. Her expression shifts into something else, happiness still playing on her features but her eyes questioning as she meets his.

He watches - or, maybe stares is a better description - as she makes her way over. The alcohol-induced red dusting her face matches the deep garnet of her long-sleeved top, tucked in neatly to a pair of shapely black jeans. Casual and comfortable as always.

Though the high-neck collar isn't nearly tall enough to cover a mark that Mason very much recognizes. One of the many he likes to leave behind, always edging on the side of too much, but just enough to make sure she thought of him whenever it throbbed with a dull, reminiscent ache. 

Another smile spreads across her lips, the little giddy mischievous one that she can't hide after a few drinks. Mason's been it's presence a few times, a smirk spreading across his face remembering what normally follows. 

As soon as she’s close, she doesn't greet him, just casually arches towards him, leaning up for something sweet. And, boy, does Mason crave the same sweetness, eyes falling half-lidded as his grey-gaze locks with hers. Mason doesn’t even question it, a hand automatically settling on the curve of her hip to pull her closer. 

“Miss me?” Her question grazes against his lips.

A pulse of sudden need rocks through his body, almost forcing a _yes_ out of him. Almost.

Instead he settles for, “something like that," making her laugh again.

Not once does he question the pull he seems to be falling in, reveling in the heat, the smell and oh so close to the taste. Too transfixed on her lips mere inches from his, he doesn’t feel her hands run down his arms before she smoothly pulls herself away completely and dismantles the beer bottle in his grip.

A frown sets deep in his face, realising way too late what’s happened as she shoots him a grin and takes a sip of his drink for herself.

Aimee tuts. “You of all people should’ve been able to feel that.”

Mason’s lips twitch at the edges. She’s right, he should’ve. The statement doesn’t hang in the air for long, Mason ready to work his magic and blanket the all too honest moment. So, he makes a move to snatch the bottle from her hand, but miraculously, and maybe for the first time ever, she is able to read him before it happens. She shifts and the bottle is out of his reach, for him to come back empty handed. 

They’ve danced this dance before but he is surprised to not be taking the lead for once.

"Oh," Aimee blinks up at him, beginning to laugh now. "Wow -"

"Don't," He warns.

"Did I just out maneuver you?” She laughs fully in his face, still grinning at him. “Better keep up, sunshine."

Mason grumbles an annoyed, “ _Sweetheart_ ,” as he plucks the bottle from her hand before she’s able to take another sip and places it on the counter behind him. “You can’t exactly blame me when I was a little distracted.” He emphasises his point by hooking his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans and yanking her close. 

Aimee welcomes it, stumbling only a little as their bodies meet and another laugh falls out of her. The bloom of heat is sensational and not just on his end. He knows she can feel it too, with the way she melts into him, another shade of pink crawling up her neck to meet the flush on her face.

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want you to be distracted now would we, agent?” She grins and raises a brow.

“I can think of plenty of distractions I’d welcome, detective.” He meets her smile with his own lazy one.

“Hm," She tilts her head. "Any of them you care to share?"

Mason glides his hands up her sides, letting the fabric of her shirt catch on his fingers and almost pulling it free from where she’s tucked it in.

“A few.” He murmurs.

“Such as?” Aimee’s question comes out quieter, a hitch of breath on the end.

“You should use those detective skills of yours and find out.”

“I don’t think you’d welcome an interrogation.” She challenges, more dangerous than teasing.

“True,” His hand continues up, thumb grazing over where her pulse is more prominent on her neck. “That is my specialty after all.”

Mason can barely stop the smirk spreading across his lips, feeling her heartbeat jump erratically under his touch. The satisfying _thump-thump-thump_ is the best thing he’s felt all evening. Her head tips back, wandering eyes making their way all over the contours of his face.

“Anything you want to tell me?” He asks, feeling her pulse jump again.

“What do you want to hear?” She asks quietly.

Mason's leans down, lips just barely brushing against her ear. “Whatever you want to give up."

The shaky breath that leaves her is the spark that ignites something inside of him. The ache in his body is one that he isn’t familiar with and it honestly annoyed him that it always happened around her. Never has he been so… entranced. He's not used to being the one reeled in. Between all the playful remarks and hard stares, he isn’t sure what to say any more. 

So, he doesn’t say anything, reaching up to move one of her rogue curls back in place. Aimee stares, silently, trying to suppress the shiver that rolls through her. Her eyelashes actually flutter from the touch, almost doll-like, long and dark, framing the pretty brown he’s beginning to recognise as a comfort.

Mason stares back, the movement of his thumb sweeping over her cheek slowing. The trickle of his thoughts become a rush that he starts to wade through, slowing him down and making it harder to find a response. 

It’s still a new feeling, his whole world reducing to just the space between them, drowning him in all these new sensations. Mason’s not one to overthink, but self-doubt is quickly becoming his friend, with Aimee making him question things more than once these days. Staring down at the plush of Aimee’s lips, watching where they’re forming into a smile, the only thought he can conjure up is how he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to shake this feeling off. Or accept it.

It doesn't last long though, Mason straightening up and snatching his hand away from her face. He didn’t even realise the kitchen is now empty, until his attention whips to the doorway just before a loud voice announces itself. Aimee frowns at the sudden change in him, though it melts away when she catches sight of his stare fixed on the doorway, where it’s just been filled out with a built, muscular frame.

Mason groans. For fuck sake.

"Maaka!" Aimee's face splits into a grin as she turns to face him, brown eyes shimmering in the light.

The infliction in her voice is overly happy, making Mason grits his teeth and shove his hands in his pockets.

"Mimi!" Maaka's voice booms, before he takes only a few strides forward.

Mason just about holds back his gag at the nickname. Maaka doesn't even grace Mason with a glance, before wrapping his arms around Aimee and squashing her into a bear hug, matters only made worse when he hoists her up into the air to make her screech. It’s a hug that lasts a little too long for Mason’s liking, feeling himself tighten and only able to breath when Maaka finally sets her down and moves away. 

"I thought you weren't coming!” Aimee practically bounces on the spot, more of her loose curls spilling out of the bun on her head.

“Nonsense,” He shakes his head, face splitting into one of those ever-charming grins, perfect white teeth on display. “I would never miss the chance to see my favourite human liaison.”

There’s a tension in Mason’s shoulders again, even with Aimee just a few feet away. The flare of the itch starts like before but falters for a moment as Mason keeps his stare on her, the faded mark on her neck still in view. A reminder of where he’s already staked his claim.

“Oh, please,” Aimee shakes her head and laughs off the comment. She leans slightly to look past Maaka’s frame. “No Tane?”

“Pup’s already made his way to the music.” Maaka smiles, still intense, until his attention slides over her head to meet Mason’s careful stare. "And, I’m surprised you're here at all and not sulking in a dark corner."

"Nah," Aimee interjects. "He was sulking outside."

Mason's jaw tightens at her comment, even more so when Maaka laughs and gently nudges her on the arm.

"Don't you have a cat to go chase or something?" Masons directs at him, lips raising into a sneer.

Maaka barks out a laugh, warm brown eyes daring a glance at Aimee and back again. "Believe it or not mate, I don't have to chase pussy like you do." He ends his words with a wink.

"I'm not your mate." Mason frowns. 

Maaka tuts and crosses his arms. “Such a shame. Think of all the brooding we could do together.”

Mason stands a little straighter, a growl emitting deep from his chest. Aimee immediately takes a step between them, her back still to Mason.

“Okaaay,” Aimee laughs, slightly strained. “Let’s not swing dicks in the kitchen.”

“Not something I would lose at.” Maaka’s focus stays trained on Aimee before drifting over to Mason, smiling fully. As he turns to go he calls over his shoulder, “Come find me if your boyfriend becomes a bore."

There seems to be some real emphasis on _boyfriend_ , all too obvious and awkward in the empty kitchen with now only Aimee and Mason.

Aimee turns to face him. “Seriously?”

“What?” He frowns at her.

“You couldn’t be civil for, like, two seconds?”

Mason responds with the obvious, an eye roll and scoff to follow. 

"You know you don't have to be here, right?" Aimee fixes him with a serious stare. "It's not mandatory. I’m here because I want to be." She continues. “Because, I actually sorta like this shit.”

The silent question of why he's here seems to flutter between them.

“Then why don’t you go play with your dog if I’m being such a burden?” Mason asks, crossing his arms.

“You’re an idiot if you think I have any kind of interest in him.”

Every day she gifts him with something new to learn about himself. He thought he was accustomed to everything he could ever possibly feel. But, this… it’s not something that’s familiar to him.

Mason brushes off the confusion with a shrug. “Do what you want, sweetheart. It doesn't affect me.”

"You're a real dick sometimes, huh?"

Another shrug. Mason can feel her eye roll from where he's standing.

Something bristles out of her. Anger he's pretty sure. "C'mon," Aimee sucks her teeth. "He's only messing around. Don't tell me the big bad wolf got to you."

Mason just laughs, a snort and grumbling annoyed sound.

"No," is all he seems to come up with. 

“Jealous?” She tries.

Mason scoffs, even louder this time. Probably a bit too loud to seem genuine.

"Not afraid of competition are you?" Aimee teases.

That seems to snap Mason out of it, gaze lazily travelling over to meet hers.

"Sweetheart, it's not a competition when I'm involved."

"And why's that?"

"You of all people should know."

Aimee hums, eyes narrowing to study his face as she drags her lip between her teeth. There’s a jump in her heart rate as she fidgets on the spot, her sneaker unsubtly squeaking against the linoleum of the kitchen floor.

"Maybe one of those distractions of yours would enlighten me?" She tilts her head.

The expression on her face is so telling, even she knows herself how outwardly obvious she’s being. Mason knows that look oh so well. It always starts with that look. Pleasure sitting in the dark of her eyes with unattainable heat behind. 

Mason stays leaning against the counter, head cocked to the side with a razor sharp focus that he knows she hates.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She crosses her arms tight across her chest.

“Like what?” Mason’s lips spread into the all too familiar smirk. He knows she hates that too.

Under his presence she’s always been able to hold her ground. But, for some reason, now she breaks their shared gaze, face heating up under how intense his stare is. Mason loves it, it’s so rare these days compared to when they first met. He eats it up. Every single time. The heat seeps into the air, reeling him in and lighting up every nook and cranny with that unprecedented feeling. After so many months, it always feels new.

So, he sidles closer, the distance between them gone. The heat in her face is still there, beginning to match the deep red of her lips. He slides a hand up to her face, cupping her cheek and smoothing his thumb just her eye. The touch is so gentle, more reassuring than anything he would be able to say right now. Mason watches as he lets the pad of his thumb brush over her cheekbone again, before dragging it over her mouth. Pride swells in his chest, feeling her heartbeat sputter in her own.

How they don’t maul each other right there in the middle of the kitchen he’s not sure. Though it comes pretty close as he quickly rushes her out the room. 

The music seems louder out in the corridors, though all he can focus on is the bounce of her hair as she grabs at his shirt and pulls him through the warehouse. Bass rattles the walls, muffling the sound of their determined footsteps and the slam of a door as they seal themselves in a nearby bathroom. Not ideal but will certainly do.

The music is all but a whisper in his ears as her back hits the door and she fumbles with the lock behind her. As soon as they hear the metallic click, she finally drags him in for a mind splitting kiss, beer still lingering on her lips and tongue. Mason moans from the taste of her alone, feeling tipsy himself for the briefest of moments before she lets out a gasp into his mouth, so delicious it shoves him right back into the moment.

Something strikes between them, conjuring up his own storm that he knows he'll never be able to keep at bay until it's stripped every possible piece of bliss from her. 

God. Finally. The satisfaction of being pressed up against her alone is sweeter than anything he could ever draw blood from. There’s a thunderous bang as she runs her hands up his stomach and over his chest, digging her fingers into his shoulders and grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to hold him impossibly closer as he completely seals her up against the door. 

Even with her tongue against his, their teeth clacking together and lips brushing, all he can think about is why he’s so frustrated at the very idea of wanting something else out of her other than to satisfy. Perfectly happy with getting her off but can’t seem to get her off his mind.

But - oh, it’s always so good with her. Sensual, soft, smooth. That is until she gets impatient, when a growing rhythm forms between them. Aimee’s always the first to moan up into his mouth, always the first ready for more. The frustrated noise she makes pushes his thoughts away, buried deep but not forgotten. 

Her moan hums through him as he pulls back, setting the edge of his teeth against her neck and dragging down, sucking and worshiping the scent lined on her skin, ready to mark her again, making the moment jump from the regular heat to _now now now_.

Fervor pulls them away from the door, with Mason walking her backwards through the room, failing to even rip their lips away for just a second. He’s just desperate to get her on any flat surface, to make her his again, and she is more than willing to oblige. With a bang the backs of her legs meet the hard counter top of the sink.

“Eager?” He talks through their kiss, fighting a smile when all she replies with is a nod and a groan.

The next noise comes from him, partially surprised, as Aimee’s hands drop, her fingers expertly dancing over his belt buckle and the fly of his jeans.

“Oh,” He pulls back slightly, their heavy panting mixing together. “ _Super_ eager.” He corrects.

The jingle of his belt covers her small laugh as she begins to shove his jeans down, dropping to her knees on the floor as they bunch around his thighs. She barely gives them a moment to compose as she spits in her hand and wraps it around him, giving a few lazy strokes, the slide of his skin hot and perfect in her palm. Jesus. He can barely take just the simple touch, hips moving forward involuntary, making her laugh.

“Waiting for something?” She asks.

Mason groans, his hips rolling forward into her fist again. “Maybe. Are you gonna do something?”

“Maybe.” She repeats him, pumping him slowly in earnest. “You’re just being so subtle about it.”

A genuine, quiet laugh startles out of him, breaking some of the tension. The music continues to pound outside the door, but Mason’s body ignores it, tuned in to only her.

“Your mouth is going to get you in trouble someday, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” She grins as she shuffles forward, taking her hand away and replacing the touch with her tongue instead. 

Oh, god. Mason groans, immediately bracing one hand over her on the counter and the other finding her hair, fingers sliding down to the root to grip hard. With a moan, she draws a slick line with her tongue from the base of his cock to the tip and down again.

"You have a freckle right here," She murmurs, leisurely kissing at the base. "D'you know that?"

Before Mason can answer she draws him in, as perfect as the summer heat. Her fingers spread out on his thighs, trying her best to keep him still but they both know it's no use. Mason can just barely restrain himself, hips almost stuttering forward and diving further into her hot mouth. 

It’d be so easy to fall into the quick and dirty pace they both love, only set on the end goal. He'd tell her how good she is and she'd use her wicked mouth he's only ever experienced from the likes of her. Every time she does this, it sets his body ablaze, threatening to consume him in the best possible way.

Even with the noise outside there’s a stillness in the private of the room, offering up every single sound for him to hear. Every obscene slick and messy noise, ragged breathing, the soft, wet sounds of her throat working every time she swallows around him. And, Aimee--

Aimee stares into his eyes, her focus set solely on his face and more interested in his reaction than anything else as she works him slowly with her mouth. It hits him again. A fierce thought of possessiveness strikes him low in the gut, spreading leisurely like lava under brimstone as he stares down at her huge almost-black eyes and cushy lips wrapped around his cock.

Staring back, he realises he wants nothing more than this, to have her wide-eyed gaze set on him like nothing else matters.

God, it's hot. She does this for no one else. Just him.

All he wants to do is watch but the knot of pleasure in him pushes him forward. Her eyes widen as he thrusts into her mouth, unable to hold off anymore. Still, she doesn’t break her stare from him, letting her jaw go slack and letting him bury his cock in her hot mouth. She grabs his ass and digs her nails in, silently encouraging him until he begins to lose it, the room filled with the wet sounds of her spit-slick lips on him and his grunting.

When he moans and she replies with one, the vibrations thrumming against him. Fuck yes, there it is. She sucks and moans like she doesn’t need air, feeling his body go tight in her hands. She grips him harder, forcing him to thrust more and he gasps as she takes him deeper. But, still, this isn’t what he wants.

“Oh, fuck -” His fist tightens in her hair and she moans around him one more time. “God, stop, Aimee -” 

With a breathy moan she pulls off immediately, spit dripping all down her chin and off the tip of him, gleaming in the low light. He tugs on her hair again and she rushes to her feet, wide-eyed as he dips down to kiss her, sucking on her messy lips and dipping his tongue next to hers.

"Fuck, so good sweetheart," He rambles between spit slick kisses. "So fucking good at that -"

“Want you,” She whines, just as frantic. “Fuck, please, Mason -”

For a second he wonders how he could ever possibly refuse her. If anyone actually ever has. Gripping her middle, he forcefully spins her to face the counter, listening to her hands smack against the surface to find her balance. The rush is wild - ridiculous and primal and dirty, both of them blindly giving into urges. She doesn't even register that she's trying to shove her jeans and panties down too, until Mason slaps her hands out the way and does it himself.

"Oh," A coy smile spreads on her lips before looking over her shoulder. "Now look who's eager." A burn spreads on her face as her eyes betray her, looking down to see exactly _how_ eager.

Shoving up her shirt, he follows the movement of the fabric with his lips, kissing up the dip of her back as he asks, “This okay?”

The shiver underneath his lips is enough of a response. He already knows. Of course he knows. He always knows, but he loves to hear it. Loves the affirmation of how much she wants him.

"Yes," She pants and he watches her hair bounce, half pulled out her bun as she gives a nod. "Yeah, please."

"Sure?" He can't resist the question, the strain and frustration in her voice is so addicting. Knowing it's for him makes his skin prickle.

"Christ," She sighs heavily. "You seriously wanna talk? Now?"

He laughs. "Sweetheart, your pussy is definitely worth the effort."

They look totally obscene compared to the scene around them, half-naked amongst the coldness of the bathroom. She continues to stare over her shoulder, heart racing as she watches him, spit leaving his lips and dangling from a thread of drool before falling to his cock. Their eyes meet as he begins to jack himself, slowly, watching as her eyelashes flutter trying to keep her stare on his but occasionally dropping to the movement of his hand.

Hot kisses litter her neck and shoulders, hands gliding over her hips and thighs, finding her hot and wet in between, barely touched. Honestly, it’s embarrassing. Even more so when he bends her over the counter, grips her hips and slowly works himself inside of her, instantly sending shivers all over. The blissful noise she makes always has Mason sure he is going to lose his mind right here and now. Stolen from his lungs is the breath he didn’t know he had, suddenly feeling like he’ll never need it as long as she’s around. He knew she was excited, but -- _fuck_.

"Fuck," He drawls as he eases out and in again, giving her a few leisurely pumps. "Already, huh?” He groans into her ear.

There's no answer, just a soft whine before her head drops. Their movement is slow - restraint - almost wary. Mason lets it drag out, deep slow strokes that send her body in trembles from how good but painstakingly teasing it is. There’s a tension in her body, hands balled into fists either side of her as she keeps panting hard and forbidding her moans into gentle whimpers or biting her lip.

Lazily, he skims his lips over the back of her neck, dizzy with the scent before he sinks the edges of his teeth into her skin, sucking until he feels the heat of a bruise blooming against his tongue. Already he can feel her body going taut, muscles tight with anticipation underneath him. _Around_ him. He can feel himself throb, or maybe it’s her he can’t tell, both of them teetering on the cliff edge. For a second he glances up, realising that their reflection is obvious in the mirror.

“Fuck, just, c’mon Mason -” Aimee chokes out and wriggles against him, moving her hips back and trying to get him to pump. "Don't stop -"

Mason slides a hand up her back, sinking his fingers into her hair. With a tug he brings her up onto her hands, forcing her attention to the mirror too. The way her face changes… christ, it's hot. Mouth falling open and eyes dilating as if asking for more. The stark red along her nose and cheeks only draws attention to her eyes, a tempting almost-black that he finds himself falling into.

It happens again, that crushing weight of just being able to sense her. There is no one else, their stares remaining locked in the reflection. She stares directly into his eyes, pushing against his barrier and edging into those cracks, forcing him to open and bare those new feelings again. It burns, hot like before but now brighter.

Shit. He fucks her harder, rough and pounding, making her hands scramble for some purchase on the counter, knocking over soaps and aftershaves and something very expensive of Nat’s they’ll probably get shit for later. But, still she isn't where she needs to be. Nowhere near where Mason desperately wants to take her to.

“Shit -- make noise, sweetheart,” He growls, snapping his hips just that bit harder. “Wanna hear those pretty little moans.”

He can still feel the resistance in her body, knowing she’s trying to hold back. He doesn’t want that. He wants every possible piece of pleasure he can get out of her. He kisses at her neck and shoulder as he goes harder, giving it to her how he knows she likes.

“Shit,” Her body starts to ease. “Oh _god_ -”

“Fuck, yes -” He grunts in her ear. “That’s it - just like that. Make sure everyone hears my name in your mouth, yeah?”

Just the thought of someone catching her - _them_ \- sends her mind racing. The sound of their tacky skin smacking together harshly drowns out the sound of her noises beginning to heighten. He grips her hair harder, making her sob out a careless moan, loud enough for someone to hear if they’re nearby. 

To be caught in such a compromising position, Mason buried deep inside of her with her hair in his fist, makes her moan even more, stomach twisting with nerves mixed with excitement. It sets her alight in the best possible way, some stupid, sick part of her not caring if it really does happen.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Her hand reaches behind her, trying to grip onto him and ground herself. “Oh my god -”

They’re both crazy into it, he’s fucking her hard and deep, fingers digging into the greatest hips he’s ever had the pleasure of hanging onto. She’s panting filthy things into the air and he feeds it right back, lips pressed against her ear, no shame - yes, he feels good, yes, he’s big, _yes_ , he’ll give it to her until she can’t take it anymore.

With the way she’s arching and writhing under him, he knows she’s close. It always gives it away. Always too stubborn to ever tell him, trying to stick to their rhythm, but can’t seem to shove back fast enough anymore. Her head drops again, moans bouncing back off the surface into the air but Mason yanks on her hair again, forcing her to look up and into the mirror.

"Don't look down sweetheart, look at me - you -" _Us,_ he breathes. "Wanna see that pretty face when you come."

Pretty lights fizzle and pop behind his eyelids, his euphoria on the fritz. He’s enjoying this as much as she is and barely realises it. He slides a hand down to rub at her clit, finding her fingers are already there. But it’s his touch that makes her boil over. 

“That’s it,” He grunts. “That’s it sweetheart, just like that.”

The most lewd noises escape her, thighs tensing as she comes. The wave of pleasure is high and mighty, dropping and crashing into her, only for Mason to be swept up into it too. It seems to go on and on and _on_ , drowning them both.

They stay pressed together, the rapid thunder of her heartbeat mirrors his, both now on the come down and melting into the lazy relaxation after a climax. A breathless laugh leaves her, arms threatening to buckle under her weight.

“Kind of rude to laugh when I’m still inside of you, don't you think?” He murmurs, nosing at the soft skin behind her ear.

She lets out a little sigh and rumbly laugh from the back of her fucked-out throat. Her eyes are glistening in the mirror, still staring at him. Smug.

“Don’t suppose you want to go back to the party then?” She asks.

Mason chuckles, low and rough, breath still heavy and knocking against her hair. “Not in the slightest.”

“Still jealous?” She hums, the warmth of her laugh following behind.

The tension has dispersed from her body, leaving the chill Aimee that he’s used to. Her soft giggling and wriggling under him is something he didn’t know he needed until right this second. 

Instead of pulling away, he gives her a hard, sharp spank, making her groan into the air again. He leans in just enough to press his lips against the shell of her ear, where her skin is beginning to flare with a tempting red flush again.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll really show you jealous.” He murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to her skin.

Shivers roll over her body, skin prickling even where they’re touching as she feels him shift, still hot and fully hilted inside of her. Again, she peers over her shoulder, their faces so close that their noses bump. She bites her lip, unable to resist her gaze ducking down. 

With a roll of her hips, she meets his eyes again and says, “Well, now that you mention it, I don’t think you made your point the first time.”

Mason breaks into a devilish grin. “Is that so?”

“Mm, yes.” She grins too, her next words feather soft against his mouth. “I think maybe there's something else.”

The laugh that rumbles out of him is gratifying, stopped short as he slides a hand up to grip at her jaw and kiss her in a way that always leaves her with fleeting thoughts of him. He always makes it impossible, dead set on stamping his mark without even realising it, whether it be on her skin or somewhere else.

They break away as he trails his lips down, retracing his marks, soothing the pink of where his stubble scraped and the purple of the fresh bruises he’s left.

He’s fine with jealous as long as he gets to brand his mark again. His escape. His serenity.

And she hopes they never fade.

  
  


**

**Author's Note:**

> to my cc gals I LOVE U ALL SO MUCH!!! happy holidays!!! thank you for being amazing!
> 
> kudos, comments, shouting at me on tumblr @masonsfangs is always highly appreciated! sometimes i draw things and post them too!! 🤩
> 
> thank you for reading 🖤


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